


What's New Pussycat

by StarlightDragon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Canon Universe, Cat Sherlock Holmes, Cats, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Fandom Trumps Hate, First Kiss, Fluff, John Loves Sherlock, M/M, john hates cats, they figure it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 00:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10560216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightDragon/pseuds/StarlightDragon
Summary: John Watson hates cats, and tries his absolute best not to interact with them. That's worked pretty well for him until he and Sherlock work a case in a pet store that leads to Sherlock temporarily turning into a cat and following John around. And, unsurprisingly, Sherlock is a lot more persistent than most other cats...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redscudery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redscudery/gifts).



> this was written as a commission for the Fandom Trumps Hate charity auction!! I had a lot of fun writing this because it's something I never would have written if I hadn't been asked to, which meant it gave me a great challenge and took me out of my comfort zone and I feel like I learned things. I'm really glad I took part in this and that I had a great person and a great prompt to work with, and I'm actually considering opening up commissions once I'm caught up on some other overdue fics so that I can have more new challenges like this. if anyone would be theoretically interested in commissioning me, shoot me a message!!
> 
> (as a warning I've started titling all my fics after so-bad-they're-good songs so watch out for that)

Of all the places to be murdered, a pet shop wouldn't have been John's first choice. Perhaps it would have been the first choice for the woman currently sprawled out on the floor with a knife through her chest that couldn't hide the image on her sweater - a picture of a cat accompanied by the slogan 'This Cat Is Gay And There's Nothing You Can Do About It'. 

No, if John Watson could choose, he'd be murdered sitting at home in his favorite chair, with a fast acting poison slipped into his cup of tea, gone before he could even realize there was anything out of the ordinary.

And right now, that certainly seemed preferable to his current situation. He was on his knees, attempting to examine the body, but being constantly distracted by the multiple cats roaming free around the shop. At one point, a ginger tabby crawled right over his victim, shedding hair into the wound. 

John snorted and shook his head. Talk about crime scene contamination.

And, of course, there was the most annoying cat of all. The one who, rather than doing his job, kept picking up stranger and stranger pieces of cat merchandise and meowing sarcastically. Until today, John hadn't even realized it was possible to meow sarcastically. Sherlock was doing a damn good job of proving him wrong.

"Look at this, John. It's a toothbrush holder in the shape of a cat. Sixteen years of being a consulting detective, and this is what my career comes to. Toothbrush holders shaped like cats."

"Maybe if you started looking for clues instead of making fun of the merchandise, you'd be doing better," John suggested, rolling his eyes.

"Trust the process, John," Sherlock reprimanded, picking up a pair of fluffy slippers with cat ears and tails. "Look at these, they're almost fooling even me into believing they're real cats..."

John rolled his eyes, but realized he wasn't going to win this one, so he might as well join in. He grabbed the closest cat shaped object - a mug with a cat face and a porcelain cat tail curled around to make a handle. 

"How about this one? Imagine this cat watching you make tea, judging you based on whether you put the milk in first..."

John had barely finished talking before Sherlock swooped in, snatching the mug out of his hands and examining it closely. "Very good, John. Very good."

\--

"Did you... did you steal that mug?"

They were back in their flat, John flipping casually through a newspaper while Sherlock made the tea. He brought two steaming cups back into the living room, handing a perfectly ordinary chipped blue mug to John, and keeping the cat shaped mug from earlier for himself.

"Steal? No, John. I acquired it as evidence for the case."

"And yet you're drinking tea out of it."

"Rude not to use it for its intended purpose, wouldn't you say?"

Sherlock took a long drag, and John couldn't keep his eyes off the cat face that seemed to be watching him. It was impossible, but John swore that those beady painted eyes were following him wherever he moved.

\--

Hours later, John had dozed off in his armchair until he was awoken by a scratching at the door. Half asleep, he shuffled over to the door and opened it. He didn't see anyone out there, but he felt something brush against his leg, and glanced down.

There was a cat in 221b.

A small, skinny black cat with bright blue eyes, an arched back, and long, fluffy fur, who had just walked into the flat like he owned the place.

John sneezed. 

"Shoo! Get out of here! Go bother Mrs Hudson, I'm sure she likes cats!" John waved the cat towards the door.

The cat, apparently, could not take a hint. It curled itself around John's ankle, nuzzling its nose into the leg of his jeans, apparently refusing to move.

John shook his leg, trying to dislodge the cat clinging to him. "Get off! Sherlock could be back any time and he's not going to like you hanging around and messing up his experiments, is he?"

The car purred, apparently undisturbed. 

John groaned, giving up and flopping back down in his armchair. "Alright, I gave you your chance. If you want to wait til Sherlock gets back and have him deal with you, fine by me. I'm just saying, it'll be better for all of us if you leave now. Trust me."

Apparently the cat did not trust him, because it climbed up John's leg and settled into the armchair next to him, cleaning its own whiskers and looking up at John for approval.

John averted his eyes, refusing to interact with the cat any further. He wasn't even sure why he was talking to the cat like it could understand. He made the resolute decision to completely ignore the offending animal and get to work on his latest blog post.

\--

By the time John woke up the following morning, Sherlock wasn't yet back. It wasn't that John was worried about him. It was more that the place felt empty without him, and that John had gotten used to waking up to muffled cursing and clattering coming from the kitchen as Sherlock either worked through some fancy science experiment that John would never understand, or attempted to cook a boiled egg.

It had been a while since Sherlock had spent a whole night away from the flat, and John hadn't realized how much he depended on his presence.

That, and there was the small matter of the cat. Even though John had firmly shut his door when he'd gone to bed last night and shoved a chair in front of it for good measure, he'd woken up to find a quietly vibrating cat curled up on his chest, burrowing under the covers and licking at the exposed skin of John's neck.

In a way, he had to admire the cat's persistence. John had only ever met one human who was that persistent. 

He supposed it was only fitting that the cat completely invading his personal space right now was pretty much the cat version of Sherlock. Just his luck. Maybe one day he'd be able to attract somebody normal.

John climbed out of bed, standing up with no thought for the cat who went tumbling to the floor with a loud squeal. He pulled on his robe, grabbed the cat by its neck and took it to the door of 221b, tossing it outside. Enough was enough.

\--

John was very, very careful when he left for work that day to close the door quickly behind him, making absolutely sure that there were no small, furry terrors trying to slink past his legs. He managed to forget about the cat during a thrilling day of prescribing rash cream, and by the time he got on his bike to go home, the cat had stopped flickering through his mind.

And then the unthinkable happened.

John opened the door to his flat, only to find the cat curled up on his favorite sitting room chair, gently mewling and licking itself.

There was only one possible explanation for this.

"Sherlock!" he called. Clearly, the bastard had finally come home, had seen the cat hanging around outside and, knowing just how much it would annoy John, had brought the thing inside.

There was no response besides a threatening - and oddly familiar - growl from the cat.

John frowned, taking a few steps towards the furry menace and crouching down. He squinted. Black hair with a slight curl, impressively well groomed even though he appeared to live on the streets, piercing pale blue eyes even though that was incredibly rare on a black cat, one ear held high while the other flopped over, giving him a cocky, knowing expression...

"Sherlock?"

The cat growled again, digging his sharp claws into John's arm.

"Listen, mate, I know you're good at disguises, but this is ridiculous. Tell me this is all just part of some stupid prank."

Sherlock let out his fiercest growl yet, snarling, throwing his face forwards into John's.

"Okay. Not a prank. Listen, Sherlock, I can believe that you can deduce the name of somebody's first girlfriend by looking at the stain on their sleeve, but turning into a cat is a tiny bit too much to accept, don't you think?"

Sherlock shook his head, whiskers brushing up against John's cheek. John scowled, batting him away.

"Fine, you want to be a cat, you be a bloody cat. Don't make a mess, I don't have a litter tray for you, and I'm not going to pay any more attention to you than I do when I've got a human Sherlock for a flatmate, you understand me?"

Sherlock whined, but did as he was told, arching his back high in the air and stalking away towards his bedroom. He could tell when he wasn't welcome.

John was on the point of sitting down in his chair when he remembered that a cat version of Sherlock wouldn't be able to make the tea. John supposed he'd have to go that himself.

Muttering at the inconvenience, he plodded over to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

He managed to get halfway through his cup of tea (which was definitely missing something, even though he couldn't place what) before there was an incessant scratching against his leg.

\--

There were pros and cons to both Sherlock the cat and Sherlock the human. The main pro of Sherlock the cat was that he was unable to talk. John no longer had to put up with any complaining, any sarcastic comments, any requests for John to do unspeakable things to pigs' eyeballs. The main pros of Sherlock the human were that he was a great cook, he didn't seem to be the biggest fan of physical contact, and that his idea of a good time was taking John out on a case, rather than shredding furniture.

Come to think of it, John actually had seen Sherlock the human wreck the furniture two or three times, but it was definitely a less frequent occurrence.

The main cons of both Sherlock the cat and Sherlock the human was that they both needed constant attention, and would do almost anything in their power to get it.

John had tried his best, at first, to ignore Sherlock the cat and live his life as though he was alone in the flat. This plan had utterly failed. Apparently there was some kind of secret entrance to Sherlock's bedroom (which actually wouldn't be all that surprising) because every time John shut him in the room and slammed the door, Sherlock managed to magically reappear, draped around John's neck like the world's most annoying scarf, within a matter of minutes.

Sherlock the cat's other hobbies seemed to include standing watch over  John on the kitchen counter and watching him disapprovingly as he attempted to make dinner, walking over the remote and changing the channel when he decided that John was watching something inappropriate on television, and curling up on top of John when he was trying to go to sleep. 

Only the last one of those was significantly different from Sherlock the human's hobbies, but it was definitely a difficult change to get used to. Possibly even more difficult than the fact that Sherlock now had fur.

Because every time John grunted and pushed Sherlock off of his bed and onto the floor, his half asleep brain couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if it were human Sherlock curled up next to him in bed. Human Sherlock who snuck into John's room in the middle of the night and cuddled up to him, nuzzling his head into John's tummy, making sleepy purring noises as he got himself comfortable. Human Sherlock clinging to him and refusing to sleep anywhere without him...

"You know, if you were human, there's no way you'd be doing this," John said, half to himself and half to the cat that was still sprawled on top of him. 

Sherlock adjusted himself, one paw now pressed firmly over John's stomach, possessively covering as much of him as possible.

"Is that you trying to tell me that you would? Cause I've spent a lot of time in this flat with Sherlock, and let me tell you, there has been absolutely no cuddling." John sighed, running his fingers vaguely through Sherlock's fur. "How much can you remember, anyway? Do you still have human Sherlock's mind in there, or have you gone full cat?"

 

Sherlock stretched, fluffing up his fur for John to keep petting. That wasn’t really much of an answer. John didn’t know what he’d been expecting – maybe for Sherlock the cat to suddenly start speaking in a totally normal human voice and tell John to pass him his phone? No, that was probably a little too weird. If ‘too weird’ was even a concept anymore.

But he kind of missed Sherlock’s voice. The purrs maybe weren’t quite as annoying as John had first thought – calling them ‘cute’ would still be a step too far – but Sherlock was such a larger than life presence, and John wasn’t sure a cat would ever be able to fill it.

He sniffed. “So how long is this going to go on for? Because if you’re doing this for a case, then maybe you should go out and, you know, talk to other cats who might have been at the crime scene. Catch a few mice for them. I’m sure that’ll get them to talk. Then once you’ve got all your witness statements and terrorized a few birds, you can go back to being a human.”

Sherlock stiffened under John’s touch, his tail curling upwards defensively, and John had a horrible thought.

“You are coming back, right? Cause, I’m not saying I miss you, I’m just saying it’d be nice not to sneeze whenever you walk into a room. And there’s plenty of murderers in London that you haven’t caught yet!”

Sherlock mewled loudly, scratching his claws down John’s chest. Somehow, he was always gentle enough to make sure John didn’t bleed.

“Listen, I know spending the whole day lying on the sofa and making strange noises is basically your dream, but give me something here. You can’t just turn into a cat forever without giving me any warning. You didn’t even think to say goodbye?”

Sherlock rested his head, his bright blue eyes fluttering shut, and within a few minutes, John could hear tiny snores coming from the fluffball that had taken up residence on his chest. Apparently conversation time was over. That had been about as frustrating as every other conversation he’d ever had with Sherlock.

John reached over and switched out the light, gently scratching behind Sherlock’s ears until he dropped off to sleep himself.

\--

Nobody else seemed to be particularly concerned about Sherlock’s disappearance. Lestrade called John one day, declaring that Sherlock wasn’t answering his phone and asking for the two of them to come in and help out with a case.

“Haven’t seen him in a couple weeks,” John replied, because he wasn’t about to say that Sherlock had turned into a cat and have Lestrade scoff at him like he was out of his mind. “It’s a bit weird. We were in the middle of a case and everything.”

Lestrade didn’t seem surprised. “Yeah, he does that. He’ll show up out of the blue in a few days telling us all about the enlightening time he had in Quebec and explaining how he solved five cold cases while he was gone. In the meantime, you can come give me a hand anyway if you’re free.

John had nothing better to do, so he decided to head over to Lestrade’s latest crime scene – a body found stuffed into the chute of a children’s playground slide, a screwdriver sticking out of its chest. Luckily, a security guard patrolling the park had seen the trail of blood before any kids had gone to the park that day. Still, the police were stumped by the man’s lack of an ID card, or indeed, any fingerprints.

“Seems like your kind of case. Are you going to keep being a stubborn idiot or are you going to change back and help us out?”

Sherlock jumped down from John’s arms, landing gracefully on the floor and stalking over to the nest he’d made out of a couple of John’s shirts.

“I’ll take that as a no,” John huffed, and got the bus by himself.

He was positive he’d been alone when he’d got on the bus, and he was sure someone would have noticed a cat using the London public transport system. And yet, somehow, when John arrived at the crime scene, there was a familiar black cat trailing behind him.

“You know you’re not going to be much help to anyone like that, don’t you?” John scolded, before realizing that talking out loud to a cat in public probably wasn’t the best idea.

He walked towards the police tape, trying to ignore the occasional brush of fur against his ankles. Sally Donovan had often joked that John followed Sherlock around everywhere like a lost puppy, but apparently, the tables had now turned.

\--

The truth was that as much as John liked to complain, Sherlock the cat really was growing on him. It wasn’t anything specific that he could place. All John knew was that it was surprisingly nice to fall asleep with a warm body pressed to his own, and to wake up in the morning to a face that was happy to see him. This version of Sherlock had no choice but to listen to what John said rather than ignoring him and going off on his own tangent – though Sherlock the cat did like to emit some very loud yowls whenever John mentioned certain words, such as ‘bathtime’, ‘less fish’ or ‘Jack the Ripper’.

But John really didn’t want to become a crazy cat lady, as tempting as it was to spend his days watching Jeremy Kyle with Sherlock, who clawed at the screen when he saw the guy he thought was the father. (He’d only been wrong once so far, and John had found the perfect squeaky toy to cheer him up whenever he was wrong for a second time.) So, John made a decision.

He decided to start dating again.

“Alright, Sherlock, you have to be on your best behavior. I’m having someone over. It’s just coffee, it’s nothing serious. She’s nice. She buys lunch at the same place I do. Noticed her cause she’s the only regular in there who gets something different every day. She’s pretty, seems interesting enough…”

Some part of this must have been a code word, because Sherlock came bursting out from behind a cushion in a puff of feathers, his tail stretched as high as it would go, snarling.

John crouched down next to Sherlock, even though it hurt his knees to bend like that, running a soothing hand over his fur. “You might even be proud of me. I can recite the orders of everyone there. Greg always gets two sausage rolls and a coffee with extra milk. Stan gets an egg sandwich, a packet of Walker’s Salt and Vinegar, and a strong black tea. But Aisha… she’s unpredictable, I never know what she’s going to do next. I like that in a woman.

Sherlock slunk away from John’s grasp, retreating back behind his cushion.

“Alright, stay behind there if you want. I know you haven’t exactly liked all my girlfriends in the past, but I thought maybe things would be different now that you’re…” John trailed off, shaking his head as another puff of feathers exploded from the cushion at the same moment that the doorbell rang. “Nope, just as grumpy as ever.”

John combed through his hair with his fingers in an attempt to remove all traces of cat, and then opened the door. “Aisha! Glad you could make it.”

Aisha gave him a small, nervous smile, and stepped tentatively into the flat. “You know, when you asked me to go out for coffee, I didn’t realize it would be at your house…”

“It’s convenient.”

“For you! I commute from Stratford!”

“Well, you’re here now, might as well stay. What can I get for you?”

Aisha scowled, taking a seat in Sherlock’s usual chair. “I don’t suppose you have a cappuccino maker?”

“No, the only coffee here’s instant.”

“What a treat,” Aisha bit out, dryly. “In that case, I’ll take a coffee with milk.”

“I’ll have that right with you,” John called over his shoulder as he headed into the kitchen. It hadn’t been the great start he was hoping for, but he had plenty of time. If he was lucky, maybe he could even convince her to stay here tonight; then he could have a real person next to him in his bed rather than a bloody cat.

He appeared back in the living room moments later. “We’re out of-“

“Is this your cat?”

Aisha was holding a limp Sherlock, who seemed to be glaring at John.

“Uh, yeah. Sort of. He’s a stray, but he spends so much time here that I don’t really have a choice but to put up with him.”

“He’s adorable, aren’t you, Mister Cross-Eyed?” Aisha grinned, making kissy noises at Sherlock and rocking him gently. John felt a stab of anger.

“Yeah, he’s alright as cats go. Can’t stand them usually.”

But Aisha was barely paying attention to him. “Hey, I might have to come here more often if I get to see your cute little face? Isn’t that right, kitty?”

John held his breath. Had the unthinkable happened? After all those times Sherlock had ruined his dates, had he finally…

Sherlock pounced, dragging his claws down Aisha’s face, flailing and scratching at her, looking almost wild. Aisha struggled out of his grip, crying out and desperately attempting to shield her face from further attacks, but Sherlock was clinging to her, hissing, completely determined to cause maximum bodily harm.

“You’re not even going to help?” Aisha yelled in John’s general direction, finally managing to dislodge Sherlock and sending him flying across the room. Seeing her chance to escape, Aisha dashed for the front door and escaped the flat, slamming it shut behind her.

“Wait-“ John made a halfhearted attempt at trying to shout after her, but even he knew it was useless. Shaking his head in frustration, he flopped back down in his chair, dragging his hands down his face.

Sherlock was completely calm now. He padded across the room and hopped up onto John’s lap, purring softly.

John picked him up and tossed him onto the floor. “Nope. No. I’m not speaking to you. Because that was not a coincidence, was it, Sherlock? I told you best behavior, and you go and claw her face off. I had a real chance there. And she liked you, too! What the hell is your problem?”

Completely ignoring the hint, Sherlock clambered back up John’s leg, placing his front paws on John’s chest and gazing into his eyes.

“No. I’m not going to pet you, or cuddle you, or whatever else it is that you’re looking for. Maybe that’ll show you not to ruin my dates in future.”

Sherlock let out a mournful purr, burying his head in John’s tummy. John’s hand twitched. He tried his absolute best to keep his face fixed in a frown.

Sherlock shifted his position just slightly, and now John could feel the gentle vibrations from Sherlock’s purring on his arm.

Shaking his head, he gave up. It wasn’t like he’d ever been able to say no to Sherlock, after all. John combed his fingers through Sherlock’s fur, a reluctant smile spreading over his face as the cat relaxed against him, closing its eyes.

John slowly started to relax too. Maybe it hadn’t been the worst thing in the world that his date hadn’t worked out. Maybe spending the night in, curled up with Sherlock and one of the battered true crime books on the coffee table, was exactly what he needed.

He yawned, reaching out for the book and giving Sherlock a quick scratch behind the ears – and as he did so, there was a loud bang, and all of a sudden there was a completely human, completely naked William Sherlock Scott Holmes wriggling around in John’s lap.

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock scrambled off John’s lap, standing up and brushing himself off. He looked completely normal, except for the fact that his hair was longer and more unkempt than usual – and, of course, the complete lack of clothes. John tried not to look, he really did, but the truth was that Sherlock’s crotch was right in his eyeline. And Sherlock seemed less concerned with covering himself up and more concerned with brushing his hair.

“Yes, well, who were you expecting, the Queen of England?” Sherlock grumbled, reaching for his cigarettes. “I’ve been dying for a smoke. You have no idea how frustrating it is to not have opposable thumbs.”

“No, I can’t say I do.” John gave his head a quick shake, trying to collect himself. “So, you’re back? You going to stay human next time? Or at least give me some kind of warning before spontaneously becoming an animal?”

“It wasn’t a conscious choice, John,” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes, before sitting back down in John’s lap like it was nothing. ”One moment I was drinking my tea, about to make a major breakthrough on the case, and the next, I’m on all fours and you’re throwing me out of my own flat. I had to navigate life as a whole new species. It really was a highly interesting learning experience.”

John grunted. “Seems like you have to learn all over again. You’re not acting entirely human right now.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, for one, you’re sitting naked in my lap grooming yourself.”

Sherlock looked down at himself, raising his eyebrows as though he hadn’t quite realized he was there. Then, he just raised an eyebrow. “It is a rather comfortable spot. Do you mind?”

John opened his mouth to protest, but the truth was, he was surprisingly comfortable. He didn’t know if it was the fact that he’d gotten used to having Sherlock the cat in his lap, but, it felt oddly natural to have Sherlock on top of him, cuddled up to him like it was nothing.

That said, he was definitely becoming increasingly aware of how close Sherlock’s most intimate areas were to his own. Or, to put it another way – he could feel his cock.

“Could you, uh, could you at least put some clothes on if you’re going to sit here? It’s a little distracting.”

Sherlock glanced down, studying the bulge in John’s pants like it was a specimen under a microscope. “Yes, I can see that.”

“That’s not what you think-“

“My knowledge of human biology is matched by very few others on this planet, and I resent the implication that I may be mischaracterizing such a basic response as an erection.” Sherlock groaned and heaved himself off of John’s lap, as if it took a great effort. “But if it would make you more comfortable, then I will indeed put my robe on.”

“Wait.”

John blurted it out without thinking. He never usually would have said anything, but this was already a pretty surreal day, what with discovering that magical cat transformations were possible, and with finding out for sure that the images of Sherlock in his uncontrollable late night dreams were, in fact, accurate. Really, what was one more surreal thing?

“Yes?”

“When you were a cat, you were sleeping on top of me, and, and sitting on my chair, and following me whenever I went out. Why? Were you just trying to annoy me, because you know how I feel about cats, or…” John let the sentence trail off, shaking his head. What the hell was he doing? “Forget it. Go get your robe."

 

 

For the first time since turning back into a human, Sherlock looked self conscious. He hung his head and averted his eyes, shuffling his feet. "While I did not possess my human physical functions, my mental capabilities were thankfully intact, or I fear I would have hurled myself into the nearest wood chipper. In fact, within three hours of becoming a cat, I had returned to the scene of the crime scene, and with my enhanced sense of smell I had correctly identified the perpetrator - or, as it were, the purr-petrator-"

"Sherlock-"

Sherlock's cheeks colored. John didn't think he'd ever seen him blush before.

"What I mean to say, John, is that I did indeed use being a cat as an excuse to do things that I was not confident in initiating while in my human form."

John chuckled, shaking his head and getting to his feet. An odd sort of calm settled over his body. There was really only one topic of conversation he had ever seen Sherlock avoid, only one area where John could confidently say he had both more knowledge and more experience than Sherlock. He supposed that made it his responsibility to take the lead.

"That has to be the most roundabout possible way of saying you want to sleep with me."

Sherlock blushed an even brighter red, and he brought his hands down to cover himself, as though he'd only just fully comprehended how naked he was.

"John... I..."

"Wait there. I'll be right back." John turned and jogged to his room, trying not to seem too eager. He grabbed his oatmeal jumper and a pair of his cleanest pajama trousers, carrying them back to Sherlock. "These might be a bit short on you, but I knew you'd never forgive me if I disrupted the sock index, so they'll have to do. Now put your clothes on, because I have waited long enough to do this, and I don't want to wait any longer."

Sherlock stepped very carefully into the trousers, and said in a small voice, "Are you going to hit me?"

John stared at Sherlock, standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room dressed in John's clothes, and John wanted to laugh, and to cry, and to run away as fast as he could, all at once.

But there was one other thing he wanted to do, even more than any of those.

 

John cupped Sherlock’s face in both of his hands, his thumbs stroking Sherlock’s cheeks, and pulled him into what felt like a surprisingly gentle kiss, considering how many years of built-up tension went into it.

And yet, Sherlock was delicate. He felt small and fragile in John’s arms, falling against him and melting into the kiss, a tiny whimper escaping his lips when John took a momentary pause for air. John moaned, crashing his lips back against Sherlock's, and he wanted to scoop him up in his arms and take him to bed and undress him all over again, but there would be plenty of time for that later. Right now, by far the most important thing was losing himself in the way Sherlock's lips fit so perfectly against his, and in the tiny, soft sounds Sherlock made when he felt John's tongue skate over his lips.

Eventually, they broke apart, though John kept his hands where they were, not ready to let go of Sherlock just yet.

“No, I’m not going to hit you,” John whispered, grinning in exhilaration, feeling like they’d just caught a murderer. “Though you kind of look like I did.”

“I don’t imagine I would enjoy being hit quite so much,” Sherlock whispered back, his eyes wide and childlike.

“Yeah, well, I don’t imagine I’d enjoy hitting you so much either. And that’s saying something, because I've never met anyone who deserves a good punch in the face more than you do."

"And here I was, thinking you were a romantic."

John shook his head, leaning in for another quick kiss, just for the hell of it. “I think we both know that’s always been you.”

The two of them were interrupted by a clattering outside of the door. They jumped apart, shooting each other guilty looks, like two teenagers who had been caught making out on the bed without each keeping one foot on the floor.

“Sherlock! You’re back! I thought I heard your voice! My, you are looking rather handsome, aren’t you?”

John was inclined to agree with Mrs Hudson, though he didn't say that out loud.

"I am indeed back. I trust that you've been taking good care of John while I've been away?"

“Well, it's not like you do much to look after him," Mrs Hudson shook her head. "There's been a cat following him around, which I don't think he's liked very much. Maybe if he ever asked me how I am, I'd have done something about it."

Sherlock laughed, a full body laugh that had him doubling over and clapping Mrs Hudson on the back. "A cat? Following John around? Hard to believe any cat would want to do such a thing, isn't it?"

Mrs Hudson looked bemused. "Yes, well, perhaps now that you’re here, you could help John with his cat problem.”

Sherlock turned and rummaged through a pile of evidence on the kitchen table. He reappeared, holding out a pair of fluffy, cat-shaped earmuffs. “I intend to help John with many of his problems, Mrs Hudson. You would be advised to take these.”

\--

Once Mrs Hudson had left, John flopped down on the sofa, holding out his arms just like he'd gotten used to doing over the past few weeks. Sherlock climbed into them, laying his head down on John's chest and curling up. John gave him an affectionate smile, reaching down to comb his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock purred.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr??  
> main blog: [@casandsip](http://guardianangelmisha.co.vu)  
> sherlock blog: [@thefirstjohnlockkiss](http://thefirstjohnlockkiss.tumblr.com)


End file.
